Page 54 of Target Me
“I think your father mentioned it.”
“No, my father doesn’t know I do martial arts.”
Damon’s eyes flicked to me, then away. He slapped his forehead. “No, it wasn’t your father. I saw you leaving the kung fu place the other day, remember? When we ran into each other at the mall? Gold belt, that’s pretty impressive. Have you been doing it long?”
I took a deep breath. Of course he’d seen me leaving the kwoon. I’d made him promise not to tell Logan he’d seen me that day. Paranoia was riding me hard today, and while I knew it was warranted, it didn’t give me the right to be a suspicious bitch to Logan’s friend, who had so kindly allowed himself to be dragged into this mess.
“Sorry, I’m not really myself today. I haven’t even thanked you for taking me in.”
He smiled, and I realized he was nice looking, even with the shiner. Logan had told me about the infamous baseball game, and at the time, had promised to take me to the next one. I wondered if he’d lied about that, too.
“Hey, it’s okay. You’re going through a lot at the moment, I get it. Just make yourself comfortable. Everything will work out.”
This time, the smile I gave him was genuine. “Thanks, Damon. I don’t know what possessed you to get involved with all of this mess, but I really appreciate it.”
Damon grunted, glancing at the television before he pushed to his feet.
“Can I get you something to drink?”
“You got any vodka?” I joked.
“Yeah, I do. You want it in juice?”
I stared at him, trying to work out if he was pulling my leg. He shrugged, a naughty grin pulling at the edges of his mouth.
“It’s five o’clock somewhere. What else are we going to do today?”
Logan had warned me that Damon had troubles with alcohol, but what would one drink hurt? Besides. Logan wasn’t here, and Damon was right. We had nothing but time to kill.
Wandering into the kitchen, I tried to help Damon mix the drinks, but he quickly shooed me out. “I’ve got this. You go relax.”
Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. I made myself comfortable in his recliner, curling my feet beneath me and perusing the various magazines on his side table. The most recent magazine was aSports Illustratedfrom six months earlier, featuring some actor talking about his fitness routine for an upcoming movie.
Damon strode into the room a moment later with two orange drinks in hand.
“Bottoms up,” he said, handing one to me as he sipped from the other glass.
The juice was cold and tangy, the vodka a dry bite on the inside of my mouth. Before I knew what I was doing, I’d swallowed the whole drink.
“Thirsty, huh?” Damon asked with a chuckle, pushing out of his chair.
“Here, I’ll make you another.”
“You haven’t finished your drink yet,” I protested, looking at the level of his glass. Damon flapped his hand at me. “What kind of host am I if I don’t keep you well hydrated? My drink will keep. I’ll be back in a moment.”
True to his word, I’d barely read two sentences of an article on ‘building guns that blast’ before he was slipping a second glass into my hand. The first mouthful tasted a little different to the last glass, and I looked curiously at Damon.
“A little something extra. Do you like it?”
I smiled tightly and took a second sip, feeling my head swim.
“It tastes a little stronger than the last one,” I said, leaning forward to place the glass on the table. I squeezed my eyes shut as the room span around me. The glass slipped from my fingers and exploded on the floor in a shower of liquid and glass.
“What…?” My knees hit the floor afterward, but the bite of glass cutting into my skin was a distant sensation as my hearing fuzzed out.
Damon placed his own drink on the table and stood calmly, watching over me as I listed sideways. It was hard to breathe, my whole body as immobile as if I’d been wrapped in plastic wrap. He bent down and rolled me onto my back, and I noticed too late something that made me scream and thrash inside my body which now felt like a prison.
He was favoring his right shoulder.
